


Sailing Off Anchor

by zeph317



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: (as much as either of these guys is capable of comfort), Angst, Drama, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Set between episodes 2.08 and 2.09, Spoilers up to 2.09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeph317/pseuds/zeph317
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riario learns a little about the benefits of becoming allies with someone like Leonardo da Vinci.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sailing Off Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> After the heartbreak of episode 2.09, and really this whole season’s arc with Riario, I needed something warm and comforting from their time traveling back to Italy. Only I made it worse before trying to make it marginally better for a brief moment, which sadly is canon, I suppose. I just want them to be happy ~~together~~ dammit.
> 
> Many huge thanks to the wonderful **hexenhasel** for the fabulous beta job of the first quarter of this. All remaining mistakes are my own fault.

The gentle sway of the ship should be lulling him to sleep, but Girolamo Riario wonders how sleep will ever come again. The few snatches of sleep he’s gotten since Zita has been gone… he’s tried for weeks but pain—physical, emotional and spiritual—make it difficult to fall asleep then impossible to rest for more than a few minutes at a time until he gasps awake, haunted by dreams he cannot always remember. 

Although it feels like his body is past its breaking point, Riario knows better than most that he will keep going. He always has and always does. He keeps going no matter what. It’s what is expected of him, and so he just does it.

But during the first night on the ship, in the few moments his eyes shut and he dozes, his body finally betrays him. Riario slips into endless, broken dreams as his fever rises and his body shivers then shakes with chills although his skin burns.

He is unaware of the concern it brings Nico in the morning when he finds him unresponsive and burning hot. Riario stays nearly comatose from the toll taken on his body in the preceding months. He wonders later if the fever burned to try to purify his soul, knowing as always that it was doomed to failure. It’s far more likely his body needs the rest it was denied ever since the Basilisk wrecked followed by the journey and the stress of imprisonment. The glimmer of hope when da Vinci appeared – as Riario had no doubt he would – soon was dimmed by the fight to stay alive and quenched completely when he failed to protect Zita. The horrors he faced and the injuries to his beaten body and soul were only compounded by the fracture in his leg and the fears that when they arrived back to the beach, there would be no escape from the new and frightful world.

If he were able, Riario would whisper a prayer of thanks that his health held until they were back on the ship sailing for Italy, as safe as they could be on a tiny vessel soon to be crossing a vast ocean. The many sleepless nights catch up to him as he comes aware once or twice, feeling someone dribble water on his lips, urging him to swallow a drink.

He wants to reach for Zita, wants to believe it is she cradling his head and wiping his brow, trying to get him to eat, rolling him on his side to help him relieve himself. 

But even at his most feverish, Riario knows it cannot be Zita’s gentle hands; it will never be her touching him again because it was he who touched her last, holding the dagger when it pierced her belly. As dehydrated as his body is growing, he feels a tear well in his eye and streak down his sweaty cheek, unnoticed or uncared by the one who tends to him.

Without Zita there to watch his sleep, even as ill as he is and lost in the confusion of the fever, Riario wants to be aware. He doesn’t trust anyone, never trusted anyone but Zita who met his needs and listened to him, but da Vinci had listened to him, had heard him tell his past and his secrets. But he can’t trust him, and he knows that da Vinci’s self-appointed guard dog will try something, sometime, and he’s powerless to defend himself now. He can’t even reach the dagger he stowed under the thin pieces of cloth and fabric that make up the pallet he’s lying on. He can offer no resistance.

He wants Zita, longs for her, not in a way that his body can muster any strength for, but craves her there to lie against him and watch over him, and give him something to be strong for and protect as well. Every inch of his body aches and the pain steals his strength so he cannot even move.

He doesn’t know how long he’s unconscious, rousing only to moisten his lips against a cup someone holds and shivering violently in the darkness when the chills return. He thinks he’s seen at least three nights until he’s able to crack his eyes open and recognize the blond halo of Nico’s hair as the boy tries to spoon something into his mouth. Nico calls his name eagerly when he realizes his eyes are open, but they are too heavy and Riario feels them slip shut against his will then he slides into the dreams again, hearing Nico’s voice joined by others above him.

Perhaps this will be it: perhaps death will now come, not by the grace of God in battle or as part of His will by illness but by a cowardly act seen as mercy by da Vinci’s mongrel.

But, the finishing blow never comes. Instead, he feels a hand smooth his hair off his forehead and then begin to undress him. He wishes for the strength to push the hands away, to insist that he can do this himself if they mean to throw him naked and shamed into the sea, and he panics when he feels the cool water slosh over him. His body spasms, and the hands are back, one on his head, one on his chest, a low voice calming him, and he relaxes a bit when he puts together that the hands are bathing him. They slosh a cool, wet cloth across his chest repeatedly, over his head, then gently turn him over to wash his back. He’s given a moment to breathe harshly when his pants are slipped down and the process repeats. The hands are clinical, professional as any physic, and Riario lets himself drown in the feeling of coolness against him and the enjoyment of feeling cleaner than he has in a long while.

The voice that has accompanied the bath chuckles above him, and Riario hasn’t understood a word that’s been said but he lets his body slump until the man tries to lift him again. He struggles as best he can, but the man isn’t trying to lift him overboard. Instead, he is held until his head is high enough and this time it is a juice of some sort, from some native fruit they’d gathered, that trickles between his cracked lips. He has enough energy to lick his lips again and again as the juice slowly moistens them.

He is placed gently back on the pallet, covered with a blanket, this one softer than the sweat-encrusted one from before, but he shivers already. Although he doesn’t have the strength to open his eyes, something tells him the soft light indicates it’s still night and his attendant has brought a lamp. As he shivers again, the chills already starting to take him, Riario suddenly fears the darkness. Perhaps this man has dressed him for death: perhaps he is already dead and his body has been prepared for the last rites and now he will be buried at sea. The fears swirl irrational and wild and he cannot quite catch his breath. 

The attendant must notice because he places a hand on Riario’s chest and says something in a worried voice, and Riario feels the softness of hair against his chest as the man lays an ear there. He rouses every bit of strength he has left in his body and finally moves his arm, his hand grasping for then clinging to the hand on his chest. He doesn’t know who this is who has been treating him with kindness. He doesn’t have strength left for his usual suspicions and paranoia. He only doesn’t want to be left alone again in the dark and the cold, left to shake until it feels his body will flay apart then burn as though he were in hell already.

The hand pulls away at first and he tries to cling tighter but he is as weak as a child. Then the hand returns, along with the voice, louder, almost as though arguing, and Riario can’t fight back so he lets go. But the man is lifting the blanket away and he’s shaking again, afraid that is being taken as well, until he feels a body slide in beside him, nestle against him, lending him heat that soothes down to the marrow of his bones. 

He spends the night shaking with chills and longing to draw closer to the one in his pallet, who willingly curls closer, then alternately burning and trying to free himself from the embrace and blanket. More than once, cool water trickles over him, wetting his hair and he licks what drips into his mouth.

He doesn’t know that the sun is coming up over the horizon when his fever finally breaks. He feels as though he’s sweating from every part of his body, and he can breathe more clearly than in days, but he still cannot move or open his eyes. A hand brushes his hair again off his forehead and he makes a mental note to have Zita cut it—it’s long past time—when he remembers she cannot. Still, he turns his head as well as he can into the hand and it stills then cups his cheek for a moment, as gently as Zita had. He feels something against his forehead and a voice mutter quietly, then the man is leaving the pallet and Riario sleeps in peace, finally gaining strength as his body heals.

When Nico rouses him later to drink, he’s even able to open his eyes and twitch his lips to answer Nico’s joyous smile. He sips what he can when Nico offers then falls back asleep, this time warmed only from the heat of the ship. Nico repeats his ministrations several times throughout the day, so Riario isn’t surprised when he awakens to feel a hand against his cheek and neck. He stirs, wondering when Nico grew so bold as to touch him, and cracks his eyes open to see da Vinci crouched over him.

Riario opens his lips to breathe out his name in recognition, but da Vinci shushes him gently. “Don’t try to talk yet. You need to save your strength.” Riario blinks slowly at him instead, and da Vinci laughs. “You really are a very obstinate man.”

Riario is confused by that, but he gladly accepts the drink da Vinci puts to his lips. Some spills out and the artista tutts, putting an arm behind Riario to lift him seemingly without effort. Riario sips easier now and even lifts his hand to help brace the cup. After he drinks his fill, da Vinci lowers him to the pallet and reaches for a bucket he’d placed nearby. 

“I believe that applying the cool water helped lower your body temperature last night and precipitate the end of your fever. I thought it might be best if we try it again, just in case your symptoms recur.”

Riario isn’t in any position to argue, and he knows that da Vinci knows that even better, but he appreciates the token asking of permission. He does his best to nod, and da Vinci smiles at him. 

“I assume things will work out better if I take matters into my own hands since I don’t think you even have the strength to lift a rag right now.”

Riario braces himself for rough treatment and is shocked by how gently da Vinci bathes him. Of course, the artista is talking the entire time, trailing a finger down major muscle groups as it follows the wet cloth, explaining the connections he has found through his anatomy studies. Any other time Riario would be fascinated and eager to learn, but his eyes are heavy and the cool water on his aching body feels like a small touch of the divine, especially followed by the gentle touches of long, clever fingers. He lets sleep claim him again, and he doesn’t feel da Vinci settle onto the pallet beside him where he’d spent the night before, against his side if he needs him again.

By the next day, Riario is well enough to sit up on the pallet and talk with Nico for a few minutes at a time. Although he tries to stay awake that evening, he’s exhausted just from that and sleeps through his cool bath with nothing more than the memory of da Vinci’s fingers smoothing his hair from his forehead and his voice reassuring him. The warmth on the pallet beside him is still fresh when Riario awakes the next morning, but da Vinci is gone.

After that, he declares himself well enough to be up, and the extra attention ceases. Riario is determined not to be any more of a burden, a word he hears uttered over and over by the growling dog. Zoroaster refuses to come into the tiny cupboard of a room where Nico spends time with him, but Riario can hear him cursing outside and knows it’s loud enough on purpose so Riario can hear all his threats.

He uses it as motivation to start walking with the makeshift splint on his leg and a walking stick Nico found somewhere on board. He hobbles as far as he can and pushes himself farther each day.

Riario wants to move; he isn’t used to sitting idly with no mission, only free time filling his days. For as long as he can remember he was kept constantly at work in the monastery; the only time he wasn’t in motion he was kneeling in prayers. These days that he is healing and cannot even properly pace the length of the ship weigh on him.

Da Vinci appears to have locked himself away in a cabin, although Nico confides that he sleeps during the day when he’s not working on the brazen head so he can stay awake at night and plot the stars. Zoroaster disappears from the deck with a snarl when he spots Riario out limping for his exercise. 

Riario soon learns one of the worst side effects of not being able to work physically—and that is the toll it takes on the mind. Although the ache in his leg is nearly unbearable at times, it’s thinking about all he has lost that makes him want to double over in pain. The cost was too great. He threw away everything he cared about, the one person he loved, and for what? He has nothing to show for the journey except total and utter defeat. He spends hours looking over the side of the ship, pretending the glare of the sun makes his eyes water. 

The thoughts roil in his mind, and soon he finds it nearly impossible to sleep again. After one night spent tossing on his hard pallet, he heads up to the deck to breath in the warm, salty air but stops when he spots da Vinci at the bow, head thrown back, staring up into the heavens. Riario stares at him for a long moment, ignoring the brightness of the full moon that is obliterating much of da Vinci’s sought-after starlight. Then he goes back to his pallet below deck and ignores even more disturbing thoughts that swirl through his head.

As he grows stronger and doesn’t need a shoulder from Nico to walk sometimes, the boy is commandeered into helping crew the ship. Vespucci and the remaining sailors aren’t about to turn down any offer of help to alleviate their constant work, so Riario volunteers to help with tasks he can handle.

He doesn’t know much of sailing beyond his first disastrous trip. It’s only the second time he’s even been on a ship so large, and he’s fascinated by its workings. At first he tries to stay out of the way, hobbled by his injury, but he wants to prove his worth and earn his keep, as he’s felt obligated to do all his life.

He and Nico learn together under experienced tutelage, and if Riario is limited his leg, he still feels relief at being able to do something useful. The fresh air, the hot sun and the harder physical exercise help him sleep a little better. The crew is a bit more companionable, and he takes to eating meals with them and Nico, more eager for human companionship than he’s ever been to help keep his thoughts at bay.

It goes well until one afternoon he’s climbing down the ladder from the upper deck and his foot slips off a rung. The jolt of weight onto his bad leg makes him curse, and the pain tears through him as though it has broken anew. Riario swears he feels eyes on his back as he pulls himself to his feet and stumbles to the semi-privacy of his pallet to check his leg. 

When Nico comes to announce supper is ready, Riario waves him off, knowing he can eat nothing because of the unbearable pain. He’s trying to sleep just to dull the ache for a bit, when the light shifts behind his closed eyelids. His hand is reaching for his dagger when da Vinci announces, “It’s only me.” 

“I don’t need any assistance,” Riario grits out, his leg aching as he jars it rolling over to face da Vinci. 

“Good. I didn’t come to offer any.” But da Vinci makes himself at home on the low stool that is Riario’s only furniture and lays out some fruit and a knife. The light from the lantern he brought along glints off the shiny blade as Riario looks from it to da Vinci’s bright eyes.

“Then what exactly are you doing here? I’m sorry I don’t really feel up to entertaining this evening.”

“I noticed you didn’t have any supper, so I brought you some things.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s a well-known fact that you need to eat to keep up your strength and heal properly.” Da Vinci holds out the fruit with a challenging eyebrow. Riario braces himself to argue then slumps. It’s not worth it. Instead, he struggles to sit up on his pallet and finds enough spark to twist away from da Vinci’s helping hand even though it makes him hiss in pain.

Once he’s settled with his back against the wall and his leg stretched as much he can stand, da Vinci hands him the fruit again. In fact, he pushes it against Riario’s lips when he doesn’t grasp it quickly enough. When Riario opens his mouth to complain, da Vinci pushes it right in, his thumb brushing Riario’s bottom lip on the way out.

Riario chews automatically but doesn’t meet da Vinci’s eyes. This time when his hand comes up, Riario is ready to take the offered quarter. “I can feed myself, you know.”

“I wasn’t sure. You’ve been moping around, acting like a baby. I wasn’t sure if you remembered how to be a man.”

And just like that, Riario’s temper is back at boil. When da Vinci takes up the knife to cut another piece, Riario lunges, ignoring his pain to hit da Vinci unaware and take control of the knife. Although the jostle of his leg threatens to make him scream, he turns his body and catches da Vinci across the chest, holding the small paring knife to his throat.

“I hope that is a satisfactory answer to your question,” he rasps in da Vinci’s face.

“A bit.” Da Vinci manages a shrug, apparently totally unconcerned that one of Rome’s most terrible killers is holding a knife against his artery and could finish him with one swipe. “How’s the leg?”

“Healing.”

“I beg to differ. I saw you fall today. Did you damage anything again?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” It doesn’t seem like a good time to be vulnerable or at da Vinci’s mercies, but he has the upper hand for the moment so he allows himself to be truthful.

“Would you like me to check on it?”

Riario finds himself lowering the knife before he’s even aware. “Why are you so invested in me surviving this trip, Artista? I would have thought you’d take the dog’s advice and find an excuse to drop me off the bow at your earliest convenience.”

“Preferably chained, gagged and weighted down? So, you’ve heard Zoroaster’s threats. Don’t worry about him—he’s mostly bark and no bite.”

Riario doesn’t quirk a smile at da Vinci’s attempted joke, but it’s a near thing. Da Vinci grins at him anyway and shrugs. “We were effective allies when forced to be. It seems a shame to kill you now.”

“Allies,” Riario repeats the word, a bit stunned. Since he has worked for the Holy Father, he has had military allies, financial allies, religious allies, but never one like da Vinci. The word doesn’t seem to fit. Allies are only allied as long as it’s beneficial. Once one side shows weakness, the alliance is broken and the weak usually stabbed in the back. “Even when we failed in our quest?”

Da Vinci’s expression falls, and he looks away. “Who’s to say we’ve failed completely? We escaped, we survived, and I will find a way to fix the brazen head.” He looks back to meet Riario’s eyes. “I won’t give up.”

Riario stares at him unblinkingly then flips the knife to extend it handle first to da Vinci. “And you called me an obstinate man.”

Da Vinci shakes his head with a quiet laugh, and the moment is broken. He accepts the knife and goes back to peeling and quartering fruit. The two eat in silence, a mood that Riario would call almost companionable. When their meager meal is done, da Vinci wipes his hand so his trousers and clears his throat. “I really should check your leg. It looked like you re-injured it, and I may have to outfit you with another brace.”

“I thought it broke again,” Riario admits quietly. He pulls at his trouser leg, and da Vinci winces in sympathy at the bruising that shows above his boot.

“Can you let me see how far the inflammation goes? The damage could be in the bone or it may only be in the muscles and tissue.” Da Vinci looks lost already in one of his anatomy lessons, fingers twitching restlessly as he pulls the lantern closer to provide more light for his examination. Riario is endlessly amused when he acts this way, his concentration focused utterly on whatever he is trying to learn. Now Riario feels the burn of that attention when he unfastens his trousers and slides them down awkwardly, moving carefully so he doesn’t jar his leg again.

Da Vinci’s hands are there, easing his trousers down his thighs so he can run his fingers over the knee and down, pressing and kneading gently around the healing flesh. Riario grits his teeth and bites off a curse when he prods one point. Da Vinci’s head is hovering over his leg, tracing the lines of the bruising, and the ends of his hair trail on Riario’s leg as he glances up.

It makes Riario almost curse for another reason.

“Good news, I think,” da Vinci says, looking back to his leg for another squeeze that makes Riario’s eyes roll back in his head. “It doesn’t look or feel broken. It’s probably all the sinew trying to heal from the damage, and you’re not resting it enough. I’ll bind it up, but I think you should limit your walking for the next few days.”

“Thank you,” Riario manages as da Vinci gets to his feet.

“Stay there until I get some cloth.” Da Vinci looks back at Riario before he ducks out of the door, and Riario swears he smirks. “Just like that is fine.” It isn’t until later that Riario realizes what kind of picture he must have made—trousers off, sweaty, disheveled, lying on a sleeping pallet, looking all kinds of debauched. He does have the decency to pull his blanket over his lap until da Vinci returns and the man has the gall to appear disappointed.

Then da Vinci is wrapping his leg tightly for support and Riario ceases to care what he looks like because the pain returns with a vengeance. He focuses on watching the da Vinci’s fingers spooling out the strips of cloth then wrapping them around and around. Da Vinci isn’t sparing with his touches and never has been. 

Riario figures he shouldn’t have been surprised that da Vinci was always touching people when he was so very tactile in every other way. It still jolted him a bit the first time da Vinci had casually laid a hand on his back when they were working to enter the Vault of Heaven. And he’d been just as shameless to accept Riario’s arms holding on to him and sparing him from a terrible fall as he’d searched for the correct keyhole. The memories of the touches, along with his strong hands smoothing down the bandages, make Riario want to pull away and at the same time let the touching continue.

When da Vinci is done, he can’t pull his trousers up quickly enough, and pushes away da Vinci’s attempt to help. “Thank you,” he finally rasps out, concentrating on lacing his trousers instead of looking up.

“You’re welcome,” da Vinci says and stands. “Remember what I said about staying off your leg. No weight on it for a few days or you could do permanent damage.”

“I believe I am permanently damaged already,” Riario breathes out in his soft voice that serves to mock himself just as well as others. From the corner of his eye, he sees da Vinci reach out, but he feels more than sees the hand stop right above him, as though he would rest it on Riario’s head or maybe even rough up his hair as he does to Nico and Zoroaster. Instead, da Vinci just takes his knife and leaves with a quiet “Good night.”

Riario lies awake for hours wondering when da Vinci started considering him an ally rather than an enemy. Although Riario, himself, has never had the urge to smooth the hair of any of the papal allies.

He is forced to take da Vinci’s advice the next day because his leg is swollen and too painful to walk on. Nico can spare only a few moments to bring him food, so Riario is left with his own thoughts until evening when da Vinci visits again. He brings more fruit, and Riario doesn’t have to take off his trousers so they spend the time more peaceably than the night before. 

What follows are some of the most stimulating conversations and entertaining dinners Riario has ever partaken of. He’s supped with kings and queens, heads of republics and armies, and yet the genius before him fascinates him all over again. Their debates quicken da Vinci’s breath, light up his eyes and make his hands twitch. Riario plays devil’s advocate to rile him, but da Vinci catches on quickly and tailors his arguments to try and catch Riario.

After enough time, Riario gets used to da Vinci’s attention wandering, the tell in his face when he solves a particular puzzle or thought, and pulls out a journal to take quick notes. He cannot be offended when the artista jumps up and runs off to do something else to prove or disprove a theory. Riario has enough to keep himself busy during the day once he can put weight on his leg again, and da Vinci seems to make a habit of coming to talk with him in the night, long after the swelling and bruising in his leg is healed.

Riario begins to notice that a shadow hangs over da Vinci now. They verbally spar, and some of da Vinci’s old bravado echoes, but Riario watches how he catches himself, not so quick to brag as he once did. He always stops well short of revealing anything that could be considered secret or for Florence. He censors himself and it reminds Riario he is still the sword arm of Rome. It doesn’t stop him from questioning da Vinci and drinking in the knowledge that he will share that isn’t judged a threat. 

The man has changed, but Riario doesn’t know if he’s grown. 

“This journey has changed us both,” Riario murmurs to him one night as they stand close together at the railing on the deck, the sea air thick and humid around them, voices lowered to not wake anyone. 

Da Vinci stares down into the still water, the only indication of the ship’s slow movement the quiet lap of waves against the wood. “Perhaps people aren’t meant to stay the same. Like the ocean, we are always moving, ever changing.”

The silence overtakes them again, but Riario notices neither man leans away and their shoulders continue to brush. When he climbs down the ladder, Da Vinci tries to brace him so he doesn’t injure his leg again, and Riario allows the hand without pulling away.

When sleep eludes him that night, Riario wonders again why he told da Vinci his secrets. It had felt right at the time—certain of his death, sure of his mistakes—to confide why he was the man he had become, in a way making da Vinci his final confessor. Perhaps he didn’t want to die without someone knowing him, what drove him, why he did the things he did. Maybe he wanted to use his own horrific experiences to influence da Vinci and make him understand why he had to give up the madness. He’s the cautionary tale of what lies at the end of the search—look at what it has done to him.

That leads Riario deeper into a spiral of thoughts about Zita and everything he has lost.

Maybe that’s why he reacts so badly when da Vinci mentions Zita the next evening, a careless comment he doesn’t even realize. Riario can’t stop the sharp intake of air he makes every time he remembers her. Da Vinci looks immediately guilty but hesitantly asks about her. Riario shuts his eyes and wants to tell him and confess again, make da Vinci his priest and perhaps gain a measure of absolution.

Instead he meets da Vinci’s gaze and makes a cutting comment about his own bad choices with women, watching da Vinci grow angry then shut down. Riario doesn’t need a dagger in hand because he knows his words can be just as sharp and cut as deeply.

Da Vinci leaves, but the thoughts roil through Riario’s head without stopping. He dreams restlessly, and the dreams haunt him, heating his body in ways it hasn’t since Zita died. Instead of her softness and curves, he dreams of a hard body with chiseled muscles, a shoulder he’s now acquainted with, hands he’s well aware of. He wakes with a gasp, hard and sweaty, but he refuses to give in to his body’s sinful desires. He condemns himself not for indulging with Zita but for the dreams he cannot control providing thoughts he does not want.

He thinks da Vinci will avoid him the next night, and he stays with Nico on deck longer than usual, until the boy is yawning and wants to seek his bed. Riario leans against the rail and listens to the water lap against the ship, the sound not enough to calm him. He is right; da Vinci does not come to him.

But, the ship isn’t big enough to hide or avoid the others without working at it. The next day da Vinci is out on deck, sometimes giving Vespucci a hand but mostly taking calculations of the angle of the sun and talking with his friend who glowers at Riario while he works at a sail. Although he ignores them, Riario keeps an eye on the two, watching the way friends work together, their body language completely open and free.

Da Vinci finally catches him looking, but instead of nudging his friend or calling attention to it, he simply nods in Riario’s direction. He mimics the movement, and it seems all is forgiven or just forgotten because he takes a walk around the deck late that night and da Vinci is waiting for him.

Riario clears his throat and politely asks about his work on the brazen head. Da Vinci sighs and asks if Riario’s leg is hurting. They talk awkwardly, more stilted than their recent interactions. Riario is used to people holding him at arm’s length, offering politeness only for his title, hypocrites smiling falsely because they fear him, not love him, and he’s fine with that. Only the thought isn’t as pleasing as it used to be, and having a fake conversation with da Vinci is no longer satisfying.

When da Vinci turns to pace away, Riario surprises himself by grasping the man’s arm. Da Vinci looks down at the hand but he doesn’t pull away. Riario tilts his head toward the cupboard he calls his own, and da Vinci follows him without argument. 

Da Vinci immediately takes the stool and sprawls on it bonelessly. The pose should look ridiculous, but somehow the man makes it look alluring, a thought that Riario stops as soon as it forms in his mind.

“Any food? Wine? Light refreshments?” Da Vinci looks around in exaggerated curiosity, and Riario can’t stop a quiet laugh.

“Yes, I managed to secret away all manner of delicacies before we left,” he says in an over-solemn tone.

“I knew it. Always hiding the good things away and keeping them for yourself.” Da Vinci’s voice trails off from the joke, but Riario smiles tightly to let him know he didn’t take it personally. He watches da Vinci look around the room again, anywhere but at Riario taking a seat on his thin sleeping pallet. 

When he speaks again, Riario is surprised. “I was … I misspoke the last time we talked, and I didn’t mean any offense by it,” da Vinci says. 

Riario knows it’s the closest to an apology the artista will ever make because he is also the kind of man to whom apologizing does not come easily. “None was taken. Allies may occasionally make missteps,” he says, and da Vinci looks at him then.

“Yes, they may. It was obvious she was … special to you. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Riario closes his eyes and breathes. He alternately curses Zita and mourns her. He’d believed her words and her feelings, but he’d let down all the trust she’d placed in him. He’d thrown it away for a book that didn’t exist—no, not that morning at the temple. He’d killed her to save the man in front of him. Without that antidote, da Vinci would have died. All the time he’d been thinking of him as the way to get the book, but now, he thought of the man he’d saved. He would have died without Riario.

He tells da Vinci this.

“So, do you think I owe you?” da Vinci asks quietly after a long moment of thought.

“Yes,” Riario answers.

Da Vinci looks up and meets his gaze. “Then how will you take your due?”

Riario is stunned. He hasn’t thought about it that way. He stares at da Vinci who is silent for once and watching him closely. It is Riario’s turn to be the one analyzing, mind awhirl. “I don’t know,” he says finally.

“What is it you want?”

“I don’t know,” Riario repeats, voice a little sharper this time.

“Will you take your retribution, or am I allowed to offer a compromise?”

Riario shakes his head, annoyance growing with da Vinci’s attitude and his own sense that he is rapidly losing control of the entire situation. Da Vinci slides off the stool and kneels next to Riario, leaning into his personal space slowly.

“I don’t want…” Riario starts then tries again as he catches on. “Giving in to sins of the flesh—”

“Who says it’s sin?” da Vinci breathes against his cheek as his hand molds itself around the other side of his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek.

“I know you don’t regularly practice our faith, but still, you are well aware that sodomy is considered a sin.”

“And a crime,” da Vinci supplies. “One that you are aware I’ve been tried for.” His fingers twitch against Riario’s jaw and slide into his hair. Riario shivers.

“So you are offering me a distraction. I can use you to sate my lust. Take … her place with your body. Is that what you’re trying to do?”

Da Vinci pulls back far enough so he can look into Riario’s eyes. “I’m not trying to replace anyone. Nothing can bring her back.” 

Riario is sure that da Vinci’s eyes glisten with tears for a moment, just as they did when he’d said Zita had forgiven him. Nothing can soothe Riario’s heart and give him what Zita had provided—mutual love and caring. But then he remembers that the one whose hand holds his face so gently is perhaps more than an ally.

“You’ll never be her,” he whispers.

“I can’t be,” da Vinci says gently. “I can’t feel that. But I can feel this.” He brushes his fingers across Riario’s cheek, down his neck and across his chest to trail down his arm. He takes Riario’s hand and places it on his own chest. “And you can feel too.”

“I’m not sure I can let myself,” Riario admits in his quietest voice, his fingers curling into the thin fabric of da Vinci’s shirt.

Da Vinci leans in and kisses him, kisses him softer than Riario would have ever dreamed. It is up to Riario to grab his shirt firmly and bite his bottom lip. He licks into his hot mouth, and da Vinci’s tongue meets his eagerly.

Perhaps he will take his comfort in this moment, his revenge in this instant. Then all thoughts and comparisons leave his mind in a hurry when da Vinci’s hands pull his shirt free from his trousers and skim up the bare flesh of his back. Riario bites his neck in retaliation and pulls the laces barely holding his shirt together.

When da Vinci pulls back, Riario is ashamed that he reaches out quickly to grasp at his shoulders, but da Vinci only smirks and pulls his shirt off over his head. Then he is pulling at Riario’s until it’s gone as well and pushes Riario to his back on the pallet, biting and kissing his way down his chest.

Riario wants to tell him not to waste his time—he’s not a woman, after all—when da Vinci’s tongue licks over his nipple. He blows out a breath over it, and the sensation makes Riario shiver, his hands coming up unbidden to tangle in da Vinci’s hair, holding him in place. He shouldn’t allow the artista the satisfaction of knowing what destroys him, but Riario feels like he is learning his own body’s reactions for the first time as da Vinci continues marking him with kisses and touches. Da Vinci may not have a map or astrolabe, but that’s never stopped him from being an aggressive and successful explorer, Riario thinks, wanting to laugh at his own crazed thoughts as Da Vinci’s tongue licks into his navel. 

It’s not his nature to be passive, so when da Vinci unlaces his trousers, Riario sits up and pushes him back. Da Vinci goes with no resistance and starts loosening his own trousers instead. In moments they are naked, and Riario looks his fill.

Da Vinci’s body is as beautiful as a masterpiece sculpted in marble, though no artist could capture a pose as lewd as the one his eager body makes now. Riario reaches for his cock, but da Vinci captures his hand and slides it up his chest instead. Riario raises an eyebrow as da Vinci shrugs, shameless as ever. So Riario pets him, fingers running lightly along the planes of muscle and bone, smoothing over his chest. He tweaks a nipple, and when that makes da Vinci groan, he does it again, harder.

It reminds him that he’s supposed to be doing this to get revenge on da Vinci, and he shouldn’t be concerned whether the artista enjoys it at all. That doesn’t stop him from leaning down to bite the nipple, making da Vinci’s body buck beneath him.

Da Vinci pulls his head up to kiss again, and Riario allows it, kissing open-mouthed and hot, sharing breath between them. Da Vinci fumbles to pull Riario down against him, and when they touch, they share a moan. Riario’s hard cock butts against da Vinci’s and he can’t resist rutting a little against him. It makes them both pant harder until da Vinci takes pity on them. He grabs both their cocks in his hand, rubbing them together firmly. The friction is almost too much and yet not nearly enough. Riario leans his weight on one elbow and lends his own hand, wrapping it around da Vinci’s dick and fingers.

Riario is afraid this isn’t going to last long when da Vinci slows his stroking and pants up at him, “Do you want to?” Riario must give him a stare blank because all his energy is focused on one thing only, and da Vinci huffs a laugh. “Do you want to fuck me?” he spells out and moves Riario’s clenched hand off his dick and guides it down, below his balls. He tilts his hips, making Riario sigh as their bodies touch until Riario’s fingertips rub against his hole.

“I could,” Riario breathes out, rubbing more firmly until it is da Vinci’s turn to sigh.

“Oil?”

“None,” Riario admits while da Vinci is still glancing around the bare floor. Riario gets distracted by a drop of sweat working its way down the center of da Vinci’s chest and ducks his head down to lick it away.

“Next time,” is da Vinci’s husky reply as he bucks his hips up and in a rhythm Riario can’t help but follow. He takes da Vinci’s cock back in his hand and strokes it firmly, thumb rubbing over the tip to catch the fluid that beads there. Da Vinci throws his head back, and Riario bites the cord of his neck. One of da Vinci’s hands is on his hip, urging him to find the same rhythm to thrust against each other while the other firmly strokes his cock in a quicker pace.

Riario feels his orgasm approaching and doesn’t try to stop, letting it carry him over the edge as he comes across da Vinci’s stomach and hand. His own weight feels unbearable and he’s about to drop, but da Vinci’s fingers tighten on his hip and pull him faster as he squeezes his eyes shut and comes with a curse. Riario’s arm does give out then, and he rolls to da Vinci’s side, both struggling to catch their breath.

“Well, that was rather nice,” da Vinci says. Riario slants a look at him, but he’s smiling, nose scrunched up in the way it does when he’s sincere. Riario allows himself a smile too.

“Yes, I suppose it was.” Riario isn’t sure what to expect, but once da Vinci’s breath has returned, he gathers his clothes and dresses. Riario wipes himself down as well as he can without fresh water and pulls on his trousers by the time da Vinci has. He’s unsure of the exact protocol for this situation but is spared when da Vinci announces brightly “Good night” and leaves.

For the second time that night Riario is speechless, but this time he’s alone so no one sees him lie back on the pallet—the one that reeks of them—and press his hands to his eyes as he tries to process all that has happened. He’s still lying wide awake when the sun rises.

He sneaks back to his pallet for a nap during the hottest part of the day, but his exhaustion catches up to him by the time night falls so he goes to bed early. Da Vinci walks in after he finally dozes off on his stomach, face turned to the wall. Riario is immediately aware someone is in the room, but he no more than clasps his hand on the dagger when he recognizes the body settling onto the pallet beside him.

“Artista?” his voice, sleep rough, asks just to make sure.

“Who else were you expecting in your bed tonight?”

Riario chuckles lowly. “Only Lucifer himself.”

“Well, I should take offense but being likened to the morning star is not a bad comparison,” da Vinci says, deliberately misunderstanding. “Although I’m personally more a creature of darkness.”

His hand is rubbing up and down Riario’s back, as though he is absentmindedly petting a dog. It’s all Riario can do not to arch into the touches. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought we’d agreed to this,” is da Vinci’s unhelpful reply.

“To you bothering me when I’m finally sleeping?”

“To fucking.”

That’s all it takes to get Riario completely awake. He’d thought—when he’d thought of it and he’d tried not to think of it very unsuccessfully all day—that it had been one time for da Vinci to feel he’d repaid him somehow. He’d never intended it to be more, and it unsettled him.

“Don’t you have someone else on board who can take care of your urges?”

Da Vinci’s hand stops between his shoulder blades. Riario wants to press up and throw off the weight now, but then da Vinci starts petting again. He speaks slowly, “I can take care of my _urges_ just fine by myself. I thought you wanted a … distraction.”

“Substitute” is the word Riario hears unspoken, and it’s not true. But he’ll be damned by the response of his body, feeling himself harden already just from the touch of da Vinci’s hand and his closeness. He turns his face to stare up at da Vinci in the dim light. It could be the shadows from the only lantern outside the cupboard, but he thinks da Vinci looks unsure.

“Distract me then, Artista,” he says, and da Vinci smiles as he leans down to kiss him. The angle is all wrong and awkward until Riario rolls onto his back and pulls da Vinci down beside him. They don’t break apart from the kisses until they strip off their clothes, and Riario pulls him down again.

He doesn’t pretend this time to want to hurry things and lets da Vinci touch his fill. He returns the favor—feeling the ridges of his back, the wings of his shoulder blades as da Vinci braces above him, the swell of his ass. Riario cups his ass in his hands and squeezes, urging da Vinci to rock and rub their cocks together.

But da Vinci edges back onto Riario’s thighs, and he wants to cry out from the loss of wonderful pressure. Da Vinci pulls at his forearm until he lets go of his ass, and da Vinci puts a small glass vial in his hand.

“I’m going to prepare myself,” he tells Riario before opening the vial and tipping out oil to run over his own fingers. “Hold that and don’t let it spill.”

Riario smiles at the order and watches as da Vinci reaches behind himself. Da Vinci gasps and his eyes close after a moment. Riario can’t see anything at this angle and in the darkness, but he strokes up da Vinci’s firm thigh to his ass then feels where da Vinci is working two fingers into himself.

He lets go when da Vinci suddenly gasps, “More oil.” His hands are shaking as he pours some into da Vinci’s waiting hand, then, when he’s distracted, he slicks his own fingers and hand. He reaches back again to join da Vinci, keeping his eyes on his face, unable to look away from the pleasure this seems to give him. When da Vinci feels the fingers joining his own, he pulls out and Riario hesitates only a moment before he groans, “Go on.”

The heat and tightness draw in his fingers. Riario sucks in a loud breath and his cock jumps just from the thought of being buried in that heat. He pumps his fingers in and out until da Vinci’s hands are scrabbling at his chest.

“Enough, enough,” he pants. “Slick yourself and get in me.”

Riario is almost sorry to stop touching him, but the promise of what’s to come is enough to make him obey. His hands shake visibly as he pours more oil then da Vinci wrests the vial away and pours it in his own palm to stroke Riario’s cock which is so hard the touch feels like torture rather than relief.

Once he’s satisfied, da Vinci rises on his knees, and Riario understands he is to be ridden. He reaches out to hold da Vinci’s waist, his hands sliding down until his thumbs brush along the sharp cut of muscles that lead to da Vinci’s groin. He strokes the soft skin there as da Vinci holds his cock and lowers himself slowly onto it.

Riario squeezes his eyes shut and wants to pray that he can last longer than an instant before he realizes the blasphemy involved in that request. That thought takes the edge off his urgency, and he can breathe a little easier as da Vinci takes his time taking him into his body. He slides slowly down then rises to his knees before sliding down further. The pace is achingly slow, but Riario enjoys it far too much to hurry him. When he sinks completely onto Riario, he opens his eyes and sees Riario staring intently at him. “Are you ready?”

“There’s more?” Riario tries to sound disinterested, but da Vinci must know it’s a lie from the way his fingers are clutching and bruising his hips.

Da Vinci grins and braces his hands behind him on Riario’s thighs, a move that stretches his torso and puts all his flesh on full display. “Oh, there’s much more,” he says before beginning to move.

It’s an assault to Riario’s senses the way da Vinci’s body welcomes him in and the way he looks at the same time. He sets an almost brutal pace that soon has Riario gasping for air. As da Vinci takes him deep and swivels his hips a little, Riario thinks he might lose control of his body. Instead he grabs da Vinci’s cock in his oiled hand and strokes in counterpoint to da Vinci’s riding. It takes more skill than he’s willing to admit because Riario is sure he’s going out of his mind. Now, though, da Vinci looks like he is, too. Riario pulls up his knees, changing the angle and trying to get more leverage to thrust up. Their rhythms are now sloppy; da Vinci is moving slower and groaning. 

He slaps Riario’s chest, surprising him with the pain as his fingers dig into the flesh. “I’m going to come,” da Vinci warns.

Riario doesn’t answer, just fists his cock harder, abandoning any attempt at rhythm, twisting at the top of his strokes, and da Vinci comes.

Riario can’t do anything more as he feels da Vinci’s body tighten and clench around him. He tries to buck up one more time and comes, hard.

Da Vinci is flagging; Riario can feel the muscles in his hard thighs spasming as he strokes down them. Da Vinci gingerly separates them with a wince. Riario sits up in concern, but da Vinci waves him off and flops onto the pallet at his side. Riario feels around for a spare cloth and finds that da Vinci has thought to bring that too and is already cleaning himself.

Riario finds his trousers but doesn’t move to put them on because da Vinci is yawning and stretching out on his pallet. He must notice Riario’s stare even in the darkness because he asks, “This is okay, isn’t it?”

Riario doesn’t answer, just drops his trousers and lies back down. Da Vinci hums a little agreeable noise and settles back, their shoulders barely touching.

“Was that rather nice?” Riario can’t help but ask.

He feels da Vinci shrug. “I was going to say fucking incredible, but I don’t know your rating system.”

Riario huffs out a laugh, and da Vinci laughs too. Riario feels the warmth from his body and his slowing breath until it evens into sleep.

Riario stares into the darkness and faces the same thoughts that have swirled in his mind for what seems like forever. He wonders what will happen when he returns to Italy. What if he were to remain allies with da Vinci and his friends? What if he takes the knowledge he has learned and uses it against the false pope? What if he abandons his father and his title? What if he gives up everything he has left in the world and still has nothing to show for it?

The what-ifs cycle back as they always do, and Riario takes a deep breath. He knows his responsibilities as a dutiful son and what he will do—what he must do—when he returns to Rome. He will do whatever it takes to fulfill his obligations, he decides, even as da Vinci rolls in his sleep, curling closer to Riario and slinging an arm over his chest.

But it’s almost nice to dream, lying here on a hard pallet, the artista’s breath in his ear, believing they are truly allies in all things. He turns his head, his forehead brushing da Vinci’s, and sleeps while he can.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think?


End file.
